Shed No Tears For Me, Love
by mholub00
Summary: Can she still call them second chances when she's gotten so many she's lost count? (Natasha-centric, but will feature other recognizable characters) (Collection of One-Shots)
1. Five

**A/N: Welcome to my new story. It's going to be a collection of one-shots that follow Natasha throughout her life, starting from when she was five years old. **

Fire is hot.

That is all she can think about as she stares into the flames, all logic and reason gone from her brain. There's something fleeting, a shadow of a lesson learned in school about what she should do, but her head is spinning and it's gone.

The head of a china doll explodes on the floor of her room, or what used to be her room and is now a pit of dancing orange and yellow and red and it's so loud.

Natasha wants to cry but she can't, so she opens her mouth to scream but she starts to cough and cough and cough.

This is what it feels like to be popcorn, she thinks as the ground rushes up to meet her.


	2. Six

Pavel and Igor and the other boys make fun of her. They grab her hair and tell her to go back to the fire she came from. She wants to hit them all.

The big girls say she can't fight the big boys because she's so small and she promises that one day she'll be able to.

"Red is a stupid color," Marfa says as she pulls apart another knot in Natasha's hair. She's not as gentle as the other girls.

"My papa has red hair," she whispers, and her head fills with sounds of laughter and violins and she smiles a little bit.

"You don't have a papa," Marfa hisses.

Her face slips back into the stony mask and Lida shoots Marfa an angry look.

She asks for a knife during free time the next morning because she wants to cut her hair, but Caretaker Borovskii shakes her head and says she should think twice about wasting those pretty curls, and that she can think about it while she scrubs the windows.


	3. Seven

They are lined up outside in age order and she stands between Marishka and Alla, since Alla has only been seven for two days. It's cold in the courtyard, so cold, and some of the girls pull their thread bare sweaters tighter around them.

"It's not fair that the boys get to stay inside," Marishka whispers because she's nine and always complaining.

Natasha ignores her and stands straight even though it makes her colder because she feels like it's the right thing to do.

The man with the shiny boots stops in front of her and she watches him look down the line. For a second she thinks she can tell what he's thinking: Lida is too fat and Fyora is always sick and Marishka likes to disobey orders and Dessa is too young and Sascha is very stupid. Then the man's eyes land on her and Natasha stares back at him and she's sure he's thinking she's perfect.

"We require your assistance," the man says and his voice is deep and gravelly. "And to help us you have to help yourselves. Can you help yourselves?"

Natasha doesn't know why she's nodding, but she is.

She can do what they ask, she knows she can, so she's not surprised when a black glove grabs her shoulder and pushes her forward.

Darya and Alla are picked too, and Gala and Katya, but she's better, she thinks, and she will be the best.

They watch the orphanage grow smaller and smaller as they drive away.


	4. Eight

The room at the end of the hall is off limits, the one with the big big doors that make loud noises when they're opened, so she tries not to act surprised when they turn toward it, following Director Morozov as closely as she dares.

She feels them stare at her as they walk by and she knows it's because of the room. She's seen the older girls come out and they're always different, like Ivanna who acted strange and disappeared after.

Natasha doesn't want to disappear and she can't help but be a little nervous when the doors groan closed behind them. But mostly she's excited because Alla and Nadya and Uly and Tatya and Liliya and Roza haven't been behind the door yet, and she knows it's special.

"Natalya Romanova, welcome," a man says and his coat is white. He has funny goggles on his forehead and Natasha fights the urge to look around the room because she knows it will make Director Morozov mad if she loses focus.

They sit her down in a chair and tie straps over her wrists and one of the doctors says she's smaller than they usually are. For a second, Natasha is worried she's done something wrong and she's about to apologize for being small, but Director Morozov just nods and the chair starts to tilt backwards.

"Little Natalya," the white coat says as he pulls the bug goggles over his eyes, leaning over her. "This won't hurt a bit."

The needle slides into her arm and she watches as best she can, the machinery moving around her head obstructing her view.

"Little Natalya," the bug man says again, moving her face with his gloved hand. Something tightens around her head and she can't move anymore, can't do anything but look at him as he smiles. "This may hurt a lot."

She can hear parts whirring around behind her and for a second nothing happens, and then it does. The pressure and pain and she thinks her head may explode, but she doesn't say so because she wants Director Morozov to be happy with her today.

The machines are done after what feels like hours and another man lifts her from the chair. They sit her at a table in another room and give her a cookie. The pain is still bad and her head is spinning, so she eats slowly and thinks she's never had anything more delicious.

"Your name is Natalya Alianovna Romanova," Director Morozov says as he sits down on the other side of the table.

"My name is Natalya Alianovna Romanova," she repeats back because she knows she's supposed to. They've played the name game before, in the room with the brown chairs.

"You are eight years old."

"I am eight years old."

"You are loyal to Mother Russia, Natalya." Director Morozov stares right at her, not blinking.

Natasha stares back, though she finds it weird that she doesn't remember doing this one before. "I am loyal to Mother Russia, sir."

Director Morozov relaxes in his chair, she can tell by the way his shoulders drop and his face becomes looser. "Is there anything you would like to ask me, Natalya Romanova?"

"No, sir," she says even though she has a lot of questions.

"Good. You may sleep now."

She's about to say that she's not tired, that it's still morning time and she has classes to go to, but exhaustion suddenly overtakes her and her whole body feels heavy.

The unfinished cookie slips out of her hand as her eyes slide closed.


	5. Nine

Nobody knows why Anatomy class was cancelled, but the sign on the door said they will come at night instead. Alla and Uly run off down the corridor because the snow has started again and Tatya suggests they go try and coax some extra bread out of the new kitchen staff, so Liliya and Roza follow her downstairs.

They are long gone before Natasha turns and walks back the other way, finding the path to her favorite hiding spot. She knows her sisters don't want her with them since she won't tell them what happened behind the door.

It's not that she doesn't want to, she reminds herself again, it's that she can't remember.

They don't believe her and she knows they're mad because none of them have been behind the door yet. She hears them whispering at night, but they don't know that.

The ledge is icy but she stands on it, balancing carefully and she knows that if she focuses, she can't fall.

That is what Uchitel Ialovskii, who teaches her special class with the older girls, tells her: if she focuses, she can do anything.

She hears the quiet breathing before she hears the footsteps and she knows who it is by the sound the shoes make on the stone.

"You need to walk quieter, Nadya," she states as she jumps down, turning to face her sister as she walks out from behind the column.

Nadya is taller than she is and has short brown hair because part of it got cut off during knife drills last week. Raisia, who is fifteen, had cut the rest using a piece of glass.

"Your footsteps are heavier on your left side," Natasha says. "And you have gravel stuck in your shoes."

She sits down in the corner between the ledge and the wall, looking out at the snow covered grounds, and Nadya sits next to her, pulling her knees to her chest. Two figures that look suspiciously like Alla and Uly go sprinting across her line of vision and Natasha knows they won't be out there long before one of the Uchitels send them to discipline.

"I am afraid 'Asha," Nadya says. "They're taking me into the room tomorrow."

Natasha turns and looks at her sister, from the way her blue eyes are filled with both fear and determination to how she sits with her feet turned in.

"Do you really not remember?"

Even as she shakes her head, she's trying to think back to the door. She can hear it close in her head, and she can feel the ghost of pain, but she doesn't tell Nadya this.

"Afterwards you get a cookie," she says because she's pretty sure that is where the disjointed memory of the table and Mother Russia and chocolate chips came from. "It was delicious."

Nadya looks less afraid at this and Natasha knows she's never had a cookie before. Not many of them have.

They are sitting in silence when Natasha sees the figures on the roof across from them. There are three, and two of them are taller and she knows they are men, but the person they drag between them is much smaller. She kneels, squinting at the people.

"What is it, 'Asha?" Nadya asks because Natasha has gone tense in all her muscles. Nadya moves next to her, following her gaze. "Is something…'Asha…"

Nadya's eyes widen in horror as the smaller figure goes sailing over the side of the roof; falling, falling and…

Natasha clamps her hand over Nadya's mouth and pulls her to the ground so they are hidden under the ledge. Hot tears hit her hand but she doesn't say anything, just stares at the ceiling and tries not to think of the snow turning red.

Tatya's bed is gone that night and none of them sleep.


	6. Ten

Uchitel Popova collects her from dinner and says someone is waiting for her in the visiting room. She didn't even know they had a visiting room, but she doesn't ask questions because she's learned better.

They turn left at the bottom of the main stairs and the door they go through is one she's seen before, but it's never open.

A man paces across the other side of the room, and as Uchitel Popova pushes her inside, he checks his watch. He is wearing a suit and his tie is blue. Natasha stands in the shadow of the doorway and surveys the room, from the heavy curtains on the windows to the wall paper peeling in the far right corner. The chandelier is too nice and the carpet smells like it's been cleaned recently, but not too recently. She catches a glimpse of his face when he turns and it looks familiar, but she doesn't know why.

He sees her then, when she takes another step into the room. He pulls his hat down slowly, a look of bewilderment and excitement crossing his face. She fights the urge to back away when he moves closer and kneels in front of her.

"Natalya," he says, fingering one of her curls. "Oh, god; it is you."

There's something wrong with his Russian, but she stays silent because instinct says she's supposed to. He's putting emphasis on the wrong syllables, she thinks.

"Your mama and I have been so worried. We've been trying to find you for years."

His hands are scarred and calloused and she notices a slight shake in his arm. His eyes look like hers, she thinks, and she watches him closely as he blinks, and- there it is, the slightest shift of a contact lens. He smells like hair dye, a scent she know because of what they did to Alla last month to make her hair brighter. His hair is red now, but so is a line of skin under his side burn.

She's ignoring his blabbing about how her mama is and how they found her, but she refocuses when he pauses, knowing that this is her chance.

"Do you remember me, Natashenka?"

"Of course I do, Papa!" She smiles the biggest smile and she thinks she can hear Director Morozov sighing from wherever he is hiding, because he's hiding somewhere and watching.

Natasha throws her arm around the man's neck and hugs him as tight as she can, and he hugs her back.

"I've missed you so much, Papa. Can I tell you a secret?" she whispers in his ear.

"Always, Natashenka. You can tell me anything."

She slips the dinner knife out from under her sleeve, since she didn't know what the visiting room was, and stabs it through the back of his neck.

"I don't have a Papa," she says, letting him fall to the ground.

The blood that sprayed on her clothing is spreading, but not as much as the pool on the floor. She can see now that his wrists are raw and red and the more she takes it apart, the more American the man sounds.

He was a prisoner, she's sure.

When the man has stopped making disgusting noises and is definitely dead, Uchitel Popova comes back into the room.

"Very good, Natalya," she says and behind her, in the hallway, Director Morozov is nodding his head in approval.

Natasha stays silent, but she's happy on the inside because she's made them happy.

They give her a new uniform set that's a little big but doesn't have any holes at all and she watches them burn the one that is soaked in the prisoner's blood.

Uchitel Popova gives her a slice of bread that's not hard and stale.


	7. Eleven

"How are you doing, Natalya?" This man is wearing a black t-shirt and she knows he works in the room behind the door.

"I'm very well, sir," she says and absentmindedly pulls on the sleeves of her shirt to hide the bruises she got in Combat class yesterday. Uchitel Uspenska says that bruises should be displayed with pride in class, but this isn't class and Natasha doesn't want this man to see them.

"How old are you, Natalya?"

She doesn't know why he ends every question with her name. She knows what her name is.

"I am eleven, sir."

"You are very small. Do you know why, Natalya?"

"I do not, sir." She thinks it has something to do with genetics, like they learned in Biology, but she knows that's not the answer he is looking for.

"Small is good. Where were you before you came to the Red Room, Natalya?"

She thinks hard about this one, but she remembers nothing that could have been a before. "I've been here always, sir."

The man smiles at this and she guesses she must have answered correctly.

"Very good. Are you sick, Natalya?"

"Yes, I am, sir," she answers because she knows he doesn't mean regular sick. He means sick in the mind, poisoned by thoughts of freedom and free will. She doesn't think she is sick this way either, but she knows what she is supposed to say. The last girl who was sick disappeared, they told her.

"Would you like to be better, Natalya?"

"I very much would, sir."

"Are you ready for your treatment, Natalya?"

"Yes sir."

He takes a second to mark something down on his clipboard before he stands and she follows suit, staying not too close behind as they walk down a narrow hallway and into the room behind the door. She knows this room is called the Red Room, but it's a more specific Red Room than the school as a whole. This is the Red Room the school was named for, Uchitel Treschev told her.

Director Vershvovski is waiting for them, and Natasha stands up straighter. She doesn't like the new director much, but she's glad he saved them. She can't remember why Director Morozov was bad, and why they needed saving, but she knows she wants to make the new director happy with her too.

The bug man motions for her to sit down and she does, closing her eyes because she knows it will hurt. The man in the black shirt straps her in.

"You're not so little any more, Natalya," the bug man says and he puts the needle in her arm.

There's no warning this time when the pain starts and she bites her tongue, focusing on the whirring on the machine instead of the pounding in her head and trying to ignore the feeling that she's being stabbed by a thousand knives.

"What is your name?" the man in black asks once they're back in the other room, sitting at the table.

She can't answer because she doesn't know.

Her head is spinning much worse than last time and but she can't close her eyes. She's already incapacitated from her treatment, and if someone attacks she needs to be able to see.

"Your name is Natalya Alianovna Romanova."

It hurts so bad she doesn't think she'll be able to speak, so she nods because it sounds familiar.

"Say it," the man growls and he sounds dangerous.

"My name is Natalya Alianovna Romanova," she chokes out and fights off a whimper.

"Are you loyal to Mother Russia, Natalya?"

"Yes sir, I am."

The lights are bright and they aren't helping.

"Are you sick, Natalya?"

"I was sir, but I am better now."


	8. Twelve

They aren't supposed to be sent on missions until they are fifteen, but Director Vershvovski says she is special, and she likes to be special.

On the plane, Uchitel Slevina says she gets to be her handler today and she ties Natasha's hair up in a ribbon.

But today her name is Nixie Rothstein and she is not Russian, not even a little bit. But she likes sundresses and Ada Schmitz is in her new class at school.

Today is Ada Schmitz's thirteenth birthday, and Nixie Rothstein has been invited to the party. There will be presents and cake and games and Nixie Rothstein is very excited.

Ada's family will be there, and Nixie Rothstein has a meeting with Ada's uncle all set up for the exact moment he is on a business call with a black market arms dealer in Norway.

Uncle Stefan is a traitor to Mother Russia, and Natasha is here to take him out, and then she can be Russian.

Right now she is German, and she smiles at Uchitel Slevina as the back of her blue sundress is buttoned with careful hands. She's never worn anything so soft, so shiny, and the thin navy stripes on the light blue fabric make her feel calm and relaxed and she spins around in her strappy sandals.

She promises herself she won't get blood on the dress, and then she closes her eyes and stops being Russian.

Uchitel Slevina slips a navy sweater on Nixie Rothstein's shoulders, large sun glasses over her eyes, and leads her to the waiting limo by the hand.

The house they arrive at is larger than anything she's ever seen, with large marble steps and neatly trimmed hedges and an air of elegance all around it. Uchitel Slevina climbs out of the limo with her, brushing off Nixie Rothstein's dress and fussing over her hair.

Natasha realizes she's acting too, so when Uchitel Slevina leans down and kisses her forehead and says to have a great time, she smiles a big smile and replies, "Of course I will, mother."

A man is marking names off a list at the door and Nixie Rothstein gives him hers.

"You're a little small," the man says and Natasha stops herself from replying because he is speaking Russian, and she is not Russian.

"I promise I was invited," she says instead in perfect German, looking confused. "Get Ada if you need to, she'll tell you right."

He shakes his head and waves her in.

Big houses have a lot of shadows, she decides, and she melts into one.

Ada's cake is brought out and Natasha manages to grab a piece without drawing attention to herself, savoring the extravagant and unfamiliar flavor behind a chair in a locked up office. She laughs to herself; nothing is ever locked, not really.

The door is glass and she can easily see into the hallway, watch the room straight across like she's supposed to.

And she waits.

As Uncle Stefan walks slowly and awkwardly towards the room, she notes the lack of color in his face and the all-around nervous appearance of his expression and body language. His hands are shaking, she notices as he flips open a disposable phone and steps into the lounge, and Natasha uncurls herself from her hiding spot.

He doesn't see her coming, nobody does, and she slides silently in behind him, poised to strike.

I am the spider, she thinks and takes an undetectable step forward; swift and deadly.

He chooses the wrong moment to turn around.

Immediately she's on the defense, bringing to her face the look of a scared twelve year old girl.

"What do you want?" Stefan Schmitz snaps, holding the phone away from his mouth.

She brings a hand to her cheek and wipes at an invisible tear. "Ex…cuse me, sir. I, I can't fin- find the bathroom."

"GET OUT!"

His hand motions angrily at the direction of the party and he turns back to face a pile of file boxes.

From the concealed holster on her thigh, she pulls out her pistol. It's small, very small, and she reminds herself that she's small too.

In the backyard, everyone is laughing and she thinks they've started the presents.

She wishes she got presents and she attaches the suppressor to her pistol.

Aiming at the back of his head, she smiles and pulls the trigger.

Ada Schmitz may be getting presents, but Natasha has a dead body and a completed assignment and an escape plan to implement.

"I'm sorry to get all the fun," Nixie Rothstein whispers as her last words, and then she disappears.


	9. Thirteen

Her special class isn't hers anymore because Nadya and Liliya and Uly are in it to. Alla always makes faces when they go because she isn't allowed: she hasn't been behind the door yet.

Today they are doing partner drills and Natasha is working with one of the older girls and Vera is lunging in attacks while she blocks and defends. Uchitel Stepunin yells out patterns and Vera steps back, sideways, spins and strikes and Natasha blocks everything without missing a beat.

"Counter!" Uchitel Stepunin yells over the sound of pounding feet on the wooden floors.

Natasha takes only a second to survey her options, from her current stance to her opponents and the four inches between them. And when Vera turns her head ever so slightly, losing focus for just a second, Natasha hooks a foot behind her knee and she can't even react before she's on the ground.

Vera angrily picks herself up off the floor, glaring as Uchitel Stepunin whispers to Natasha over a job well done.

They switch partners and Rimma is across from her now.

Rimma and Vera are sisters, she knows, the same way Nadya is her sister, and that's why she suspects Rimma is hitting harder. Because she saw that look when they switched and she knows Rimma is fighting for her sister's pride.

Natasha smiles because she's not going to let her win it back.

She's younger and she knows that could be a disadvantage, but she's also faster and lower to the ground and maybe a little stronger.

"Attack!"

The punch comes to her left and she blocks it, moving the other arm across her chest to protect the area she is leaving vulnerable.

Uchitel Stepunin taps his stick against the floor and Rimma goes for the roundhouse kick, which she ducks under.

Another tap and a leg sweeps across the floor. Still crouched, Natasha flips over it and rolls to a standing position, out of range of Rimma's arms so the older girl comes blundering closer to try and land a hit.

"Counter!"

Natasha notices the slight incoordination and clumsiness of the older girl's movements, taking the off balance moment after the attack to slide between her legs. Rimma moves to face her, but a well-placed kick in the back knocks her off balance again. She's on her feet and ready, a smirk on her face, and when Rimma turns Natasha doesn't hesitate.

She learned the thigh choke only yesterday and has been itching to try it out since.

Rimma groans from the ground and Uchitel Stepunin is on them in an instant, attracted to the noise like a wasp to a candle. Movement around the room stops as the other students turn to the commotion.

"You have done well, Romanova," he growls. The sound used to be threatening and intimidating, but she's grown accustomed to his deep and gravelly voice. "Zalesski, off your ass and to the front!"

He grabs Rimma under the arm and hauls her to her feet before she has the chance to stand, half dragging her to the front of the large room. She stumbles trying to keep up and catches herself on the wall when he lets go. Uchitel Stepunin surveys the now silent group of girls, his face the terrifying emotionless void that gives Natasha the urge to run and never look back.

But this time she knows he won't pick her. She's already beaten Rimma today.

"Werner!" He shouts after a second and while the other girls step back, Liliya walks calmly to the front of the room.

She's not fooling anyone, Natasha thinks as she watches her sister's hands tremble.

A gasp echoes from the crowd as Uchitel Stepunin walks past the cabinet of blunted knives they use in drills and instead opens the one of real weapons, sharpened and shiny and barely used. He hands both Rimma and Liliya knives with slightly serrated blades and black leather handles. Both girls nod and move to circling each other, waiting for his command.

From her position on the edge of the crowd, Natasha watches the match unfurl, and watches the faces of her sisters. Uly looks terrified, and Natasha hopes she stops soon so she is not punished, but Nadya wears a look of complete indifference. She catches Natasha's eye and smirks a little bit, almost in a 'she deserves this' manner, and Natasha nods in agreement. If Liliya had held her tongue during warm ups, she wouldn't have been picked.

Within minutes, Rimma is kneeling on the ground, her knife discarded on the floor as she tries in vain to stop the bleeding from her shoulder. Red trickles between her fingers and covers Liliya's blade.

"What are you waiting for?" Uchitel Stepunin says with an increased air of darkness to his voice and Rimma sobs.

"Yield," she chokes out. "I yield."

Liliya nods and drops her knife, looking to Uchitel Stepunin to make the call like he always does.

The flash of dark metal catches Natasha's eye only a moment before the shot goes off and she knows if the gun had been aimed at her, she would be dead. Her reaction would have been too slow.

But Rimma has stopped crying and her body slumps to the floor, a pool of red growing beneath her.

"You made someone else clean up your mess," Uchitel Stepunin states but Liliya isn't looking at him, she's watching the blood move closer and closer to her shoes, and Natasha marks this as her first mistake.

"She yielded," Liliya says, her still eyes on the ground.

Nadya is holding two fingers against her leg; a second mistake.

"She yielded, that means I won. And you killed her, sir." There is a noticeable shake to Liliya's voice.

Uly looks between her two sisters, from the looks they are giving each other to the three fingers they are both holding separately and she knows what is going to happen, so she closes her eyes; Liliya has three mistakes.

"There is no such thing as yielding," Uchitel Stepunin growls and Natasha watches him load another bullet into the barrel of his pistol. "Only delaying, stalling, and double crossing."

He stands and moves slowly towards her, and Liliya starts to cry.

Then there are two dead bodies on the floor of the class, and no one is surprised.

"Volynski! Tsitova! Gepfner! Clean up this mess!" Uchitel Stepunin snaps his fingers as he storms from the hall, and Anastasia and Vera and Oksana move forward to figure out how to keep the blood from staining the floor.

They will cry later tonight, Natasha knows, because their sister is dead, just as Liliya's bed will be gone and Natasha and Nadya and Uly will have to keep Alla quiet when they tell her why.

Uchitel Stepunin is making someone else clean up his mess, and she marks that as his first mistake.


	10. Fourteen

The buckles tighten around her arm.

They aren't behind the door this time, but in a vacant dormitory-turned-laboratory center. She thinks the ideal place to run medical tests, which is what Director Vershvovski said they were going to do, would be a hospital.

Of course, if the Red Room had one of those, it wouldn't be the same, she reminds herself; if her sisters were weak enough to be hurt or sick, they were too weak to live anyway.

The doctor running the test tightens the straps again, one around her wrist, one around her upper arm.

"What kind of test's are you going to run?" she asks, watching the hunched over man with his small and beetle like eyes.

She's not expecting an answer, but the one she assumes would be blood test or something skin related. Maybe a reflex test, though that wouldn't make sense with the buckles and all.

Director Vershvovski steps out of the shadows, surveying the set up with a judgmental look on his face. After a moment he turns to her, smiling a little. "Doctor Buryshikin here is going to shatter your arm, Natalya. And we are going to see how long it takes to heal."

An awful metal sound echoes around the room and she barely has time to comprehend what he said, what is happening, before there's a flash of silver in the corner of her eye and then-

Pain. Horrible, terrible, unbearable pain.

She slams her eyes closed and can feel tears welling in them, opens her mouth to scream but it hurts too much and she can't yell, can't cry.

In some ways, she guesses that's a good thing but she doesn't really care and just wants the pain to stop.

The world is spinning when she opens her eyes, blurry and out of focus and there are dots in her vision, and she's not sure how long it's been since she closed them. Minutes, maybe. Hours. Days.

Two figures stand in front of a large computer, a black and white image up on the screen. She thinks it's an x-ray, and she notices that what should be bones instead has the appearance of gravel.

The one in the lab coat says something about two to three weeks, and the taller and scarier man says sooner.

She closes her eyes for only a second, and when she opens them again, he's standing over her with a needle. She doesn't feel the shot, doesn't feel anything but the horrible, terrible, unbearable pain that pulsates through her body and intensifies when he bumps the table her arm is strapped to, and she's sure it was on purpose.

Natasha grits her teeth and wishes she still had the ability to pass out.


	11. Fifteen

"You're not doing it right."

Natasha picks herself up off the floor, rubbing the spot on her shoulder that she knows won't bruise, won't even hurt in a few minutes.

The sparring mats are a _privilege_, she's been reminded twice already, but that doesn't make the metal arm less painful on impact.

"You're being clumsy, losing the rhythm," Barnes says, watching her slight limp fade even as she walks. "Grace, poise, speed."

He sounds as though she might be practicing for the ballet instead of learning new Point Sets and quick disabling techniques.

"Again."

She turns to face him, dropping into a crouch likes she's supposed to. Forward roll into a standing position, flip over the leg swing, under the right hook, see the colored markers on his bare skin, hit one, two (his arm goes limp), three-

**CRACK.**

The metal hand catches her across the jaw and she stumbles backward.

"What am I doing wrong?" she growls in frustration, opening and closing her mouth as the pain recedes.

"Grace, poise, speed!" he yells back, as if it was that obvious. "Fighting is a dance, individual movements merging into one." He motions wildly at her as the feeling comes back to his arm. "Stop treating it like you're some street fighter. Respect the dance and let the movements carry you."

"That doesn't even make-"

"Again."

She hesitates, thinking his words over as she stares James Barnes down again, watching the shift in his weight and noting how his arm still throws him off balance. The blue markers catch her focus and she starts again, rolling and flipping and ducking and-

He slams a fist into her stomach before she even hits the first mark and she doubles over, struggling to catch her breath.

"That's…not fair," she chokes out, running a hand over her ribs to make sure nothing is broken.

She stands up straight, leaning backward to stretch out her abdominal muscles.

"Yeah? What are you going to do about it?" He steps forward and shoves her shoulders, catching her off guard. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't-"

"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?" He yells, inches from her face, his arms moving to shove her again. She goes to block him but he catches her wrist in cold, metal fingers.

He squeezes her arm and she holds back a wince, staring him straight in the eyes.

"You're not going to do anything, Natalya. Because you can't," he hisses. "You're weak. _Weak_. I should send you back to the dogs; get them to give me someone worth my time for once. I hear Nadya is better than you anyway."

This gets her, and the anger starts. She bites the inside of her cheek and feels the hate over take her body: she hates him and his stupid dance and the fact he would even _suggest_ Nadya is better than she is.

Nadya is shit, she wants to say, but clenches her jaw instead and slowly curls her other hand into a fist.

Weak is not a word used to describe Natalya Romanova.

He's still talking but the anger is pounding in her head and she has the advantage of surprise, she knows this, and she has her window and-

Her fist on his face is the most satisfying sound she's heard all day.

He stumbles but still has a grip on her wrist, so she's not free. Using the unbalanced moment, she catches the back of his neck and slams his head down at the same time she drives her knee upward.

Blood pours from his nose for only a second and he has a look of murder on his face.

But she's not afraid, not this time.

He tries to throw her off by twisting her arm, regaining his feet, but she shifts her weight, sliding between his legs and he flips, landing hard on his back on the sparring mat. He rolls to stand, turning to face her and she's ready now, waiting for the attack.

"This is what I'm talking about, Firecracker." James Barnes rolls his shoulder, wipes some of the blood onto the back of his hand, and smiles. "Again."

The nickname should distract her, but she embraces it instead. Firecracker is suitable, she thinks, and drops into a crouch.

Forward roll.

_Grace._

Flip over the leg swing.

_Poise_.

Under the right hook.

_Speed_.

See the colored markers.

_Fighting is a dance_. _Let the movements carry you_.

Hit one, hit two (his arm goes limp).

_This is what I'm talking about, Firecracker._

Instead of going for the third mark, she feigns the movement and when he ducks, as expected, she uses her momentum to propel herself forward, wrapping her thighs around his throat and uses _his_ second of off balance surprise to throw him to the ground.

The room shakes and he groans and she doesn't hesitate to jab her fingers into his neck, hitting the third mark.

He coughs once, twice, runs a hand over his face and shakes out his arm, and she stands with her hands still up, waiting for the revenge attack she feels is coming.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" he says, rolling to pick himself off the ground.

She expects him to hit her, but instead he starts to laugh.

He doubles over, laughing and coughing, and she watches his chest heave and the red marks fade from around his neck.

A look of...encouraging satisfaction crosses his face and she drops her defense, her mind buzzing in confusion. She disobeyed the direct orders of the drill, yet he's happy with her. Proud even, she thinks from the look he's giving her; interested, excited, a little humiliated but okay with it.

"You're dismissed for today. Get something on your wrist; I don't want to hear complaints tomorrow." James claps her on her small shoulder as he walks out of the room, still chuckling to himself. "We're going to get along just fine, Firecracker. Just fine."


	12. Sixteen

Moscow is dark, even with the city lights all around and the hum of noise, but she supposes it could have something to do with the alley she's standing in.

He hums the cords of a song, some lullaby, and she focuses her eyes on his face once more.

Nikolai has short dark hair and eyes too dark to see the pupils, and he says it's because his mother is mostly Arabic and that's why his skin isn't as pale as the snow, as pale as everyone else's, and he smiles in a way that she thinks should make her heart flutter but it doesn't.

Well, maybe a little.

She's not here for him, not really, but he was a nice addition to her cover story. She couldn't turn him away, not after he followed her the two blocks from the market that morning and attracted too much attention.

He told her she looked like an angel and she let him tag along.

"Are you sure you have to go?" he asks for the fifth time since the sun has set.

She nods and he runs his awkwardly long fingers along the side of her face. "My papa will want me home- stop that!" She giggles and hates it and pulls his hand from her face in a gentle and delicate way that makes him smile again.

Of course her papa will want her home; conveniently around the same time an important Russian ambassador will be arriving at the Kremlin to continue his traitorous acts against Mother Russia.

She wasn't given many details besides "this is where he'll be" and "you're going to kill him" and "don't get caught."

"And you're really leaving tomorrow? All the way back to Saratov?" He pouts and it's ridiculous looking, but kind of cute, and she bites her bottom lip.

"I don't want to go either, Moscow is so beautiful," she says, motioning to the life beyond the alleyway.

"And?" he waits expectantly for her to say more.

She giggles again. "And of course we've only just met. That makes it worse."

_"The target has entered the city. T-minus-fifteen until we move in. Shake the local, 'Asha."_

Nadya's voice rings in her ear, but the look on her face doesn't change.

Nikolai runs a hand along the fur of her white coat. "Is it wrong of me to say I may be in love?"

He kisses her neck, awkwardly bending down because he's a half a foot taller than her, and she doesn't understand why her heart starts pounding in her ears because he's not even that cute-

"You could run away, stay here with me," he whispers in her ear before continuing the kisses along her jaw bone and cheek.

Before she's really aware of what she's doing, she wraps a hand on the back of his neck and slams her lips against his. He stumbles, catching himself on the wall, and a hand moves to her back, pulling her closer.

Her head starts to spin and he smells amazing, she realizes now, like some sort of spice and wood smoke and wet clay and lemons, his hair smells like lemons as she tangles a hand in it.

_"He looks like he's eating your face."_ Nadya comments dryly. Without breaking the kiss, Natasha aims her middle finger in the direction of the opposite rooftop.

His hand is moving up and down her back and across her ass and she knows she shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be encouraging it, that it's not fair to him.

"Nikkolai…" she starts, "I…have…to go."

"Shhh." He closes his mouth over hers again. "No you don't."

"Except I do," she says more forceful this time, lowering her arms to his chest and creating space between them. He groans as her lips pull away from his and it almost pains her to leave him like this. Almost.

She stands on her tip toes, placing a much softer, sweeter kiss on his lips, and backs into the street before he can delay her any longer. "Goodbye Nikolai."

_"Haul some ass 'Asha. T-minus-eleven."_

She already half a block from the alley when he steps into the city light.

"Sofia!" he calls and she turns around, continuing to walk backwards. "You won't be in trouble if you get caught, will you?"

"I won't get caught!" she yells back, waving in an over dramatic fashion and blowing him a kiss before she takes off running.

And she means it.


End file.
